


Leave That Door Open

by summerstorm



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy's never been in Tyler's room before, but it's not hard to guess who a lived-in bedroom that's not the master could belong to in this house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave That Door Open

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for a Porn Battle XI prompt, and I would tell you which one it was if I remembered, which I don't. My best guess is it had to do with Tyler's house and/or drinking. Thanks to empressearwig for beta.

It starts as a weird moment of awareness in the midst of watching Sarah show off her belly-dancing skills while Aimee tops off tequila shots. Jeremy's still mostly aware of everything that's going on, kind of bored, definitely drunk, and seriously considering suggesting they go back to the game of strip Scrabble Aimee decided she was tired of as soon as her bra was visible, something like six words in.

("Bradley house rules," she said as she peeled off her tank top, and Jeremy wasn't about to tell her not to make up excuses to end up half naked if that was what she wanted to do.)

So he considers that, looks around until his eyes meet Tyler's, and he almost brings it up, almost says, "Hey, so I still think I can kick your ass at Scrabble," idly, just to do something. Tyler's taking a drink of whatever's in his glass—whiskey, Jeremy thinks, straight from a bottle they found in a cabinet in his dad's study. When he lowers his glass, he stops to acknowledge Jeremy's attention with the rim of it still touching his bottom lip, dragging it down, and it dawns on Jeremy that asking to play strip Scrabble when Aimee and Sarah don't even need the excuse anymore to take off their clothes is basically like saying he wants to see Tyler naked, and then he realizes, eyes idly wandering down, that yeah, he kind of does. He also realizes this may not be the first time he's felt that way; there were all these fights where the adrenaline and anger gradually became something else entirely, but he never chalked it up to being attracted to Tyler. He figured it was some kind of messy chemical connection thing.

Jeremy's saved from staring at Tyler's shoulders any longer by Sarah, who slinks up to him, precarious on just one heel, her bare toes sharp on their tips to even up her height. She throws her arms around his neck, and he stills her with his palms around her ribs. "Hi," she says, and he feels a corner of his mouth curl up.

"Hey." Jeremy likes Sarah; she's not tortured inside, she has friends who aren't evil vampires or drug addicts, she's nothing like anyone Jeremy's dated lately, and that's mostly a good thing. It's good to have something not serious going on. Sarah's fun. She goes everywhere with Aimee and she won't go on a date with him unless it's a group thing and she has a weird habit of dragging him out in the middle of said dates to make out in the back.

"So I was thinking," she says, running her fingers like pebbles over the front of his shirt, "you know how there are very empty rooms all over this house? We should go fill one of them up."

He spares a quick glance at Tyler, chewing at the inside of his cheek, and eventually says, "Sure, why not."

They're upstairs and heading for a guest room when Sarah spins on her one heel, holding onto Jeremy's shirt. "You know what I like?" she says, her smile silly and conspiratorial, and Jeremy doesn't have to follow up with a question before she drags him off in the opposite direction they were going.

Jeremy's never been in Tyler's room before, but it's not hard to guess who a lived-in bedroom that's not the master could belong to in this house.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable being here," he begins, but Sarah brushes a finger to his mouth and closes the door behind him, pushing him against it.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to despoil his bed or anything," she says. Jeremy barely has time to raise an eyebrow before she's kissing him, hands roaming over his stomach. She drags her mouth down his neck, and Jeremy gets a full view of the room. It's tidier than he would have expected. He feels like he's invading something anyway, and he doesn't know when he started caring about this: Tyler and his family throw parties all the time, and Jeremy would be surprised to hear Sarah's the first one who's wandered in here without permission.

But this is not a party and to them this is not a random room, and maybe it's the alcohol, probably it's the alcohol, but suddenly Jeremy can't get Tyler out of his head. It's not like being watched, but like everything Sarah does conjures up a completely different image in his head: she sucks on his bottom lip, light and playful, and Jeremy wonders if Tyler would even be capable of that, if Tyler's mouth would be bitter and demanding or if he's one of those people who switch gears behind closed doors. She murmurs, "You smell good," into Jeremy's neck, and he wonders if Tyler would nose at skin, if the werewolf gene would carry through to things like that even without having been triggered.

Sarah's fingertips flutter over his fly and he lets his head fall back against the door, closing his eyes.

She moves her mouth to his collarbone and cups him tightly through his jeans and, when he catches a glimpse of his surroundings again, head still tilted up, Sarah's out of his line of vision, and his mind wanders to Tyler again, to being in Tyler's room, to what it might be like if it were Tyler biting at his shoulder and shoving his hand down the back of Jeremy's pants.

Sarah ends up pulling him back towards the bed—Tyler's bed, and that's not Jeremy's imagination—and he finds himself with Sarah backed against it, sitting and trying to tug him down, then giving up and going for his belt.

She lies down and passes out before she gets any further than that, and Jeremy brushes her hair off her eyes before crawling out of the room. She stirs a little when he's at the door, propping herself up on her elbow, and promptly drops back down on the bed.

Tyler's still in the living room, not really doing anything. Jeremy gets the feeling Tyler's been doing a lot of staring into space lately.

"Where's Aimee?" he asks.

Tyler shrugs and steps around the couch, picking up a half full glass from the end table. "Where's Sarah?"

"Passed out upstairs." Jeremy leans against the doorframe. Tiredness is settling in his bones, and he watches Tyler with heavy lids as Tyler walks up to him and vaguely holds out the glass. Jeremy looks down at Tyler's hand and licks his lips; his mouth is kind of dry. When he reaches for the glass, their fingers brush, and he glances up before taking the glass and drawing his hand back. "Thanks," he says, lifting the glass to his mouth. It's not what they were having before; Jeremy thought it might be stronger, but it isn't. It's barely alcoholic, more peach flavor than anything else; he thinks Tyler must have poured it for Aimee before she left.

Tyler shrugs again, and Jeremy keeps his eyes on him as he drinks. Tyler only walks up to the couch, until he can turn around and lean back on it. He doesn't look drunk. He looks weary and nowhere near as suspicious as the time Jeremy first brought up the werewolf thing. The wariness isn't completely gone, but it's softer, more curious than angry. It's a sign he should go home that Jeremy only realizes he's staring when Tyler coughs pointedly. The result isn't much better; Jeremy's gaze drops to Tyler's mouth instinctively, but this time he's quick enough to look away.

Jeremy leaves his glass on the nearest horizontal surface. He's not sure stepping any closer to Tyler would help matters a lot. He might do something stupid like try to touch him, and bad track record aside, he doesn't actually have a death wish. And his coordination skills are impaired enough that any sort of physical fight would be a horrible idea.

Belatedly, it occurs to him Tyler will eventually go to his room, so he says, "Sarah's in your bed. Just so you—yeah." He shakes his head slowly, just to show he had nothing to do with it.

Tyler's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and that's all the acknowledgment Jeremy gets. He wonders how openly Tyler would react if Jeremy told him he's currently making a concerted effort not to move because he doesn't trust himself not to move the wrong way, or that he's spent a pretty significant part of tonight thinking about taking off his clothes.

Tyler moves his hands from his lap to the top of the couch, lifting himself onto his feet, and Jeremy has another weird moment of alertness, straightening up and looking at him. His mind flashes back to Tyler's dad's wake, the way Tyler looked that day, as weary as he looks now, ready to bolt. He still looks more than a little annoyed by the world at large, but not as... disgruntled or aggressive, Jeremy guesses.

"I'll show you out," Tyler says, and he looks at Jeremy for a long moment, almost like he's sizing him up, like he's trying to figure something out. That reminds Jeremy of that time at the wake, too, and how heavy Tyler's gaze felt on him then. It doesn't now. It's lighter, or at least it doesn't feel like Tyler wishes he could crush him with his mind, which is kind of nice for a change.

*

The Tuesday after that is the closest he ever gets to going on a date with Sarah. They're at the Grill, Aimee disappeared about an hour ago, and Tyler's been talking to Matt on and off since then, half sitting on a table near the back while Matt cleaned up.

Sarah follows Jeremy's gaze, and Jeremy follows hers back to the space between them. He needs to stop looking at Tyler like this. Horrible things can happen when you can't tell you're staring.

He redirects his attention to Sarah, but blurts out a question he shouldn't anyway. "Are you, like," he begins, scrunching up his face at the horrible way he's phrasing this, "into Tyler?"

Sarah frowns, tilting her head, offering a smile that looks more like a confused pout than a smile. "Why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Jeremy says, "you kind of fell asleep in his—room." Maybe there's just no good way to ask about something like this. He can think of worse ways; he could have blurted out something that sounded like he was accusing Sarah of being intrusive or nosy, or worse, something that sounded like he was judging her.

In that sense, the way he's asking isn't so bad.

"Yeah, that's not about—that's not about Tyler. I just like the—" She hisses inwardly. "Don't tell me you don't have any weird things like that."

"Like what?"

Sarah shrugs. "I kinda like sneaking in places? Not like, breaking and entering, but places I'm not supposed to be. And it's even better when they're personal or belong to people I know. The thrill of the—chase, I guess? Does that make sense?"

Jeremy blinks slowly at her for a few seconds. "I guess," he replies, quiet and late.

Aimee comes back before Tyler does; she slips into the chair next to Sarah and clutches Sarah's fist on their table.

"Party, tomorrow," she says, "at Tyler's house. Start calling people."

"He agreed to that?" Sarah asks. She seems kind of in awe when Aimee smirks at her.

"Wait, when did you even—" Jeremy begins, and Aimee waves her phone in front on her face. "Couldn't you just talk to him? He's right there."

"Where's the fun in that?" Aimee says dismissively, already busy texting people. "Besides, I think he likes me too much. I don't like to lead people on."

"So you're using him for his house," Jeremy points out with an amused, lopsided smile.

Aimee raises her head and grins. "We're using each other." Jeremy refrains from asking what Tyler's getting out of that deal, because he really doesn't want to know, and he wouldn't put it past either Tyler or Aimee to trade like, sexual favors for party passes. Still, before he can manage a subject change, Aimee's sliding up next to him and whispering, "You want in?"

He turns his head to face her. "In on what?"

"I don't know," Aimee says easily. "There are so many options. Sex, drugs, rock and roll." She's grinning, speaking slowly, and Jeremy grins back for a moment, just before she adds, "I've definitely been entertaining thoughts of a threesome. I think that would work for me."

Jeremy nearly chokes, his throat constricting just enough to have to swallow around the shock before he can get any words out. "I think I'll pass," he says, as naturally as he can.

"Your loss," says Aimee, and changes seats again.

When Jeremy turns his head, Matt's gone and Tyler's not just looking in Jeremy's general direction but straight at him, with this skeptical look on his face that makes Jeremy feel kind of like he's done something horrible, which he—hasn't. He definitely hasn't, and it's not like Tyler has some kind of claim on Aimee, unless that's what Aimee was playing with, which—whatever, you can't claim someone anyway, dumb favor trading or not—weird werewolf genes or not.

Sometimes remembering Tyler has those is kind of a shock to Jeremy's system. Not the news, but the—he can't believe how often he forgets about that, even though he doesn't really forget about it very often at all. It's just strange when he does, like it's something he should always remember because it's such a big thing, but it's not like it's overly affecting Tyler right now, if any of the legend stuff is to be believed, and Tyler's been doing a great job pretending there's no such thing as werewolves ever since they started hanging out with Sarah and Aimee. Who aren't serious about anything, let alone anyone else.

It's been so long since everything that went down between them that Jeremy wishes Tyler would let that go, too. He knows it's kind of hypocritical, because he's still carrying that suspiciousness, a certain sense of competition even though there's nothing for them to compete over anymore. Even though Vicki wasn't really theirs to gamble with in the first place.

He kind of gets it, because, well, he's been there, but it's weird all of a sudden, because as much as Vicki was not a shining beacon of responsibility, in a certain way she was tied to the two of them, emotionally and through Matt and Elena. Aimee and Sarah are party girls. They're fun and they're not looking for whatever Tyler's glaring daggers at Jeremy over as he walks over to their table.

When Tyler stops before them, he eyes Jeremy for an extra second, this long, lingering look that's full of something strong like hatred that Jeremy can't entirely believe is that; Jeremy holds it as long as Tyler makes him. He doesn't support whatever games Tyler's playing, but he's not backing down.

Eventually, Tyler takes a short breath through his nose as he turns to Aimee, and says, "Wanna get out of here?" and then Aimee's holding onto his waist and Jeremy's alone with Sarah again and the way he figures, he might as well pay attention before she vanishes as well, or vanishes and expects him to come along. He falls back into the date mindset when she laces her fingers through his as they walk to her car, and it almost feels like the end of an actual date when she kisses him goodnight, deep and dirty in her front seat, and tells him she's picking him up tomorrow at eight for Aimee's little Lockwood-housed party.

*

It's not really a _little_ party, and it doesn't even resemble a second date. As soon as they're inside, Sarah's on the lookout for Aimee, and Jeremy's left wondering what the hell he's even doing here. It's not like—okay, he knows people, but they don't know him, and he doesn't care to be known by them.

"Mind if I come in?" Jeremy asks when he opens the door to Tyler's bedroom and spots him there. He's not exactly looking for a place to hide, but Sarah disappeared from his sight with Aimee and some guy Jeremy didn't get a good look at like twenty minutes ago, and he's not the biggest fan of mingling. His feelings about mingling resemble a headache more than anything else.

"Sure," Tyler says after a beat, voice resigned. "Close the door."

Jeremy walks in carefully and palms the door shut behind him. The light's on; Sarah didn't bother with switches last time he was here, and it's not like he's been here any other times, so it's actually kind of a new view of Tyler's room. He looks around for a second, not really seeing anything besides Tyler out of the corner of his eye.

Tyler's leaning back against his desk, almost sitting on it, heels just a fraction off the floor. He has a beer in one hand and his thigh stretched beneath the other. And chances are he doesn't appreciate Jeremy looking anywhere below his waist.

"Are you really hiding from your own party?" Jeremy begins, glancing up, just to say something. He's not trying to be a dick.

Tyler mutters, "It's not my party," but otherwise ignores the question in favor of saying, "What is it with you and my room?" His tone is kind of hostile, but nowhere near enough to surprise Jeremy. "Do you like it or something?"

It's not a real question, but whatever. "You know, I kind of do," Jeremy says, shrugging lightly, because he does. It's almost silent, for starters, the noise outside just a low buzz when it gets through the door. "But that thing last week, that was Sarah."

"Sarah," Tyler echoes.

"Ask her, not me," Jeremy says, slipping his hands into his pockets before resting his elbow on a dresser instead.

"Ask her what?"

"Ask her why she dragged me here," Jeremy says, which is pointless; it's like using a word to define it. He's not about to go revealing information she gave him in private, though, even if she seems comfortable enough with that kind of thing that she'd probably tell Tyler freely if he asked. Somehow Jeremy doesn't see Tyler asking.

Tyler snorts. "You still let her," he says, but it's quiet and dismissive, like they've exhausted the subject. Because they have. There wasn't that much in it. There could be, if Jeremy had it in him to talk about it, there could be a _lot_ more to it, this whole string of things Jeremy realized he wanted Tyler to do to him just then, but he doesn't.

He doesn't.

He still wants them, though, and it's only clearer when he shifts his full weight to his feet and walks further into the room, towards Tyler. Once he's close enough, Tyler lifts his head, the direction of his gaze adapting to Jeremy's height.

There's that look again, intense and kind of angry, but not like he wants to hit something. Maybe like he just—wants. Like he just wants something, and it's entirely possible Jeremy's making that up. It's entirely possible Jeremy's projecting, but there's no Aimee here, no Sarah, there's no reason for that jealousy to show on Tyler's face unless it's not about Sarah or Aimee or anyone but Jeremy.

Jeremy bites his lip unconsciously, holding in a _huh_ , and Tyler's eyes flicker for a fraction of a second, enough for Jeremy to notice but only because he's looking back, he's paying attention.

The thing about this is there isn't a subtle way to—to do anything. Even sitting down next to Tyler seems like an overt move most of the time, and Tyler's not even sitting down right now—the desk's holding some of his weight, but most of it is on his feet. It's do nothing or walk up to him and risk—Jeremy doesn't even know what. Some dignity. Getting shot down.

Screw it. There's no way he can build up to something like this—it's not like he can ask Tyler out or something, and it's not like there's a lot between them that taking a chance here will destroy. The worst that could happen is that Tyler throws a punch, and that wouldn't even be new.

He closes the distance between them in two long strides, and Tyler rises to his feet instinctively, defensive, probably not expecting Jeremy to take the bottle from his hand, not expecting Jeremy to place it on the desk in the same motion Jeremy leans in to kiss him.

When their lips brush, Jeremy's brain decides there's no possible reaction other than Tyler hitting him, or kicking him out. Tyler's mouth doesn't move, and for a while neither does any other part of his body. The first vital sign Tyler offers is a quick lift of his hand, high enough to clasp at Jeremy. The fingers that grasp Jeremy's arm are kind of thoughtless, not really aggressive, the grip barely one, Tyler's palm flat against Jeremy's sleeve.

Jeremy feels the beginning of a push on the bone and steels himself to be shoved off, but then there's a single word resonating in the silence, a mumbled "Fuck" against Jeremy's mouth, and Tyler's fingers are curling around Jeremy's sleeve instead of his flesh, bringing him closer as he tugs at Jeremy's lip with his teeth until Jeremy opens his mouth, letting Tyler lick in. Tyler's free hand comes up around Jeremy's face, not cradling it but just holding on, thumb hard on Jeremy's jaw, fingers hot on the back of his neck, and Jeremy feels the pressure of taking that stupid, stupid first step burst in his stomach and shoot up his chest, making him gasp into Tyler's mouth, making his hands fly to Tyler's collar.

It's scary, letting on that much, and for a microsecond Jeremy considers stopping before things get any worse. All Tyler does, though, is shift away a fraction, biting hard on Jeremy's lip before deepening the kiss. Almost instantly, there are hands on his chest, pulling uselessly at his shirt, palms wide and roaming down to his hips and slipping up his body. The best word to describe them is _possessive_ , gripping Jeremy's ribs under his shirt like he'll disappear if they don't and opening his fly lightning-fast.

It may be the shock that Tyler's not just responding but pushing things further, but one second Jeremy's leaning over Tyler and the next his back's pinned to a wall and he can't even remember the in-between, can't remember Tyler's mouth vanishing from his and settling on his jaw, his neck, sucking on skin idly but somehow still hard enough Jeremy knows it's going to leave a mark.

Tyler's hands are on Jeremy's sides again, stroking lightly around his back and lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of his boxers before sliding inside, and Jeremy reacts then, letting his head hit the wall for a moment before grabbing at Tyler's shirt. Tyler drags his mouth up Jeremy's neck, and there's a moment where they look at each other and Jeremy can feel this get awkward, embarrassing, but he doesn't let it; he licks his lips and doesn't even have time to initiate before Tyler's kissing him again, hard but not as frantic as before, less like he wants to avoid talking about this and more like he just wants to.

Jeremy drags his hands up Tyler's back, and he feels the muscles there shift as Tyler presses in closer, hips angling up, close enough Jeremy can feel how hard Tyler is through their jeans, up against his hipbone. Jeremy bucks into him unconsciously, seeking friction; he's been on edge since the second Tyler touched him, holding back, and apparently his dick seems to see this as permission to ignore all the reasons Jeremy didn't want Tyler to know this much, because it fills up instantly, and Jeremy barely has the willpower to keep from rutting up against Tyler. The only reason he manages is so he can get his hands between them to open Tyler's pants and push them down along with his underwear. He palms Tyler's hip, thumb tracing idle shapes over his pelvis as his other hand holds Tyler's face back for a second so he can lick at Tyler's lips, reduce the kiss to the surface of their mouths, breathe there as he drags his hand slow down the front of Tyler's thigh, not sure he's allowed to this, not sure it's a good idea to push that much.

Tyler says, "Fuck," and moves his mouth to Jeremy's chin before adding, "Wait, fuck."

"What?" Jeremy begins, honestly curious, but then Tyler has a hand down Jeremy's boxers and around Jeremy's dick and Jeremy stops expecting an answer.

It's permission, anyway; Jeremy's hand is still touching bone, the peak of Tyler's hipbone, and it's natural enough to move his hand down, knuckles brushing Tyler's cock, hard and hot on Jeremy's skin even before he wraps his fingers around it, angling his wrist until he can give it a long stroke twice without stopping to reshuffle, until he can get some kind of rhythm going.

It's—actually it's still really awkward: their elbows keep bumping and Jeremy can feel his shoulder complain about the angle. And Jeremy's done this kind of thing before, with _girls_ , getting them off at the same time they get him off, and it worked out fine after a while, but he doesn't know if there's going to be time to figure this out with Tyler, and right now it's just throwing off his coordination. It's bad enough when he's done what he's doing before, when he has time to anticipate it beyond the physical thrill. Like this it's just a disaster; every time his hips snap up into Tyler's hand he loses track of what he's doing, every time Tyler nips at his jaw, every time Tyler _moves_.

Jeremy brings his hands up to Tyler's stomach, shirt pushed up just enough for the heels to touch skin, and Tyler lets out a deep, raspy moan and goes stiller, quieter. His hand slows down on Jeremy's cock, sliding down the length and cupping his balls just a second, squeezing lightly before moving to his thigh, holding on and up until Tyler's fingers are pressed to Jeremy's waist and all Jeremy can hear is loud breathing, close to panting, and all he can think is he wants to stay like this, wants to give himself a break, wants to touch Tyler again.

He sets his palms on his chest, pushing him back a little, and Tyler looks up, face questioning. Jeremy shrugs and slouches against the wall, moving one hand down to Tyler's stomach, fingers humming over skin before bundling loose around his cock.

Tyler stumbles on his feet, and there's a loud smack near Jeremy's ears when Tyler holds himself up, hands flat on the wall over Jeremy's shoulders. He eyes Jeremy again, curiosity turned wary. Jeremy has nothing to say, so he just keeps Tyler there with his eyes, hoping he'll stay put.

It's so far from the kind of struggle Jeremy was expecting before he kissed Tyler the first time that he laughs a little, and Tyler breaks away just long enough to say, "What?"

"Nothing," Jeremy says. He tightens his grip on Tyler's dick and gives it a couple of jerks, flicking his thumb over the head to spread some wetness. Tyler's still far enough away that Jeremy can see what he's doing to him on his face, the way his mouth opens and his nostrils flare and his lids keep dropping despite Tyler's attempts to keep his eyes open. "That was awesome timing," Jeremy comments idly, because it _was_.

"Shut up," Tyler says, looking down in a way that would look like rolling his eyes if it weren't for how obvious it is he's dodging Jeremy's, and Jeremy feels his mouth curl up smugly.

It's easier to figure out what works for Tyler like this, to keep up a rhythm. Tyler braces himself against the wall and doesn't stop looking at Jeremy's face; Jeremy thought he'd avoid this, but instead it's like Tyler's making an effort to—Jeremy doesn't even know what. To acknowledge him. To not be an asshole.

Jeremy goes with it when Tyler's hips start rocking faster, and Tyler buries his face in Jeremy's neck then, nose stretching out his collar. Jeremy closes his eyes then, just listens to Tyler's breathing and feels him get closer, his mouth opening over Jeremy's skin. Jeremy's convinced Tyler's going to bite, but he just sets his mouth against the stretch of collarbone Jeremy's shirt leaves uncovered, breathing out loud bursts of hot air that make Jeremy's skin feel damp at almost the same rhythm Tyler spills into his hand.

Tyler nips his way up Jeremy's neck after a while, eyes struggling to stay open. Jeremy lets him gather himself. He looks like he might say something, but then he just licks at Jeremy's lips, kisses him open-mouthed and lazy as his hands shove Jeremy's clothes down his hips. They stay there, feather-light pressure on the bone at first, then holding on tighter as Tyler slides down to his knees, mouth staying close, dragging down his shirt and up his stomach, nosing down.

Jeremy feels everything he'd been holding back snap in the pit of his stomach, all the pressure from ignoring his dick coming out in quick waves as Tyler laps at the head of it, soft and quick, kind of curious, and then swallows him down as far as his mouth will go, sucking a little before seemingly deciding not to and just licking around, humming this vibration down Jeremy's cock interspersed with these awesome noises like he's actually enjoying it and _fuck_ , it's so much more than Jeremy needs right now, it's so much more he's already stupidly close to coming, can feel it building everywhere.

"Wait, I'm gonna," Jeremy tries, because he doesn't have a death wish even if the idea of coming in Tyler's mouth is making it really, really hard to hold back from doing exactly that, "Tyler, fuck," and, after what seems like forever, Tyler grabs onto Jeremy's hips to haul himself onto his feet and wraps his fist around him, coaxing his orgasm out in just a few tight, rough strokes.

Jeremy's mouth curls around his breath as he comes down from it, and at one point it almost comes out as a whistle. Jeremy smiles for a second, bites his lip because he can't even keep that up right now. When he opens his eyes, Tyler's watching him. Jeremy can't even read his expression. He can maybe read his body language, the hand on the wall by Jeremy's shoulder holding him up, his eyes now looking down at his other hand, dirty with Jeremy's come. He's about to tell him he can wipe it on Jeremy's shirt if he wants, he has a jacket in Sarah's car and it's pretty chilly outside, but then Tyler brings it up to his chin, fingers sliding against each other, come dripping down his wrist, and slides a finger into his mouth, resolutely not looking at Jeremy now, mumbling, "Fucking genes," under his breath.

Jeremy's entire body practically convulses, head hitting the wall hard on the way back from that sway. Thirty seconds later he would have gotten hard again. He doesn't know what it is about all this werewolf shit that's so fucking hot to him, but the visual of Tyler lapping come off his fingers, the _idea_ that it is because he can't help it, because there's something deep inside of him that makes him like that, holy shit.

"Do not say a word," Tyler grunts when he manages to tear his hand away from his mouth, to stand on his own feet.

"Wouldn't dare," Jeremy says, reaching down to grasp the waistband of his jeans, tugging them up lazily.

Tyler's more efficient there; in five seconds he's fully dressed again, clothes a little rumpled and mouth clearly abused but fully dressed all the same. He steps away to grab a discarded t-shirt from his bed, wipe his hand on it before tossing it back, and says, "I'm gonna go check on downstairs. I'm sure you can find a bathroom if you need one." He bites the inside of his cheek and adds, "I'm not gonna kick you out, but if you feel the need to snoop, don't. It's fucking creepy."

Jeremy nods, watching the door close on Tyler's back, and thinks, yeah, that could have gone a lot worse.


End file.
